


Words Like Knives

by CelticPixie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, Fighting, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 12:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11185548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticPixie/pseuds/CelticPixie
Summary: Getting into a heated argument with Toye and you both sitting on high tension. "Maybe people keep away from you because they don't want to put up with someone so fucking cynical," you spat before you could stop the words. You catch yourself and look over at Toye to see him frozen, looking at you with tears welling in his eyes and jaw clenched. "Is that how you feel?"





	Words Like Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-d, not edited, sorry, all mistakes are my fault.

You and Joe had been combative from the beginning.

Your aid station had been getting men from Bastogne regularly after the town was bombed, so two more weren't that special. That is, until they were. The loud one, his dog tags labeled him "Guarnere", never seemed to shut up even through the morphine you gave him for his leg. He had matching wounds with the man beside him, a quieter man whose dog tags read "Toye." Toye tended not to run his mouth the way Guarnere did, but he made up for it in being an awful flirt. Neither were real problems, probably because neither could stand, but they could get on your nerves. You didn't give any of the men any free asses, and you weren't going to make exceptions for those two, missing limbs or not.

You might have blamed it on the morphine, except for the fact that you knew Toye hadn't asked for any for two days. You'd been finishing redressing Guarnere's leg after checking for infection, ignoring Toye as he tried to talk you into going out with him once he was "out of this hell hole, come on doll, I promise you'll love it." He wasn't the first to try to get under your skin, and you knew he wouldn't be the last, but you honestly didn't expect him to get handsy.

You were just about to walk away when you felt a hand on your backside, making you jump, and the smug look on Toye's face was all you needed to give him a good smack. The fact that you'd smacked him probably shocked him more than the actual blow, but you didn't care, you were livid.

"You're a fucking paratrooper and you're wounded, but that don't give you no excuse to be a fucking asshole," you snapped before storming off. He apologized the next time you came over, he following day. After that, he was better behaved, but that didn't stop him from asking you to go out with him "just for drinks, it'll be fun, please beautiful?"

Beautiful. He always called you beautiful. You could come in with blood up to your forearms and your hair plastered to your face with sweat and he'd still call you beautiful. You'd brushed it off as meaningless flirting, but after a few weeks, you'd come over to change his bandages and he'd been fast asleep.

"Morphine," Guarnere told you, before you even asked, "he hasn't been sleepin', so boss lady gave him some to knock him out." You nodded before getting to changing the dressings, being careful to be more gentle that usual so he wouldn't wake up, just in case the morphine was wearing off.

"Ya know," Guarnere spoke up after a few minutes. You turned your head to look at him so he knew you were listening before looking back at your hands. "He really is head over heels for ya. Has been since you gave him that whack." You laughed quietly and shook your head.

"He just ain’t seen a pretty girl in a year. He'll shake it off," you brushed off, but he shook his head.

"Nah, I ain't never seen him like this. It's actually kinda pathetic if you ask me, the way he's always talkin' about ya and smilin' like an idiot when ya come over."

The next time you went over to their beds, you promised Toye that if he behaved, you'd think about that date. He told you to call him Joe.

A year later, you're living with him in Pennsylvania. Usually you kept your arguments to a minimum, if only for your neighbors who'd threatened to call the cops after the third blowup, but sometimes things got loud. Sometimes he would get frustrated with his leg or you would have a bad day at the office where you worked as a typist, and god forbid the days these coincided.

Today was one of those days. It really only started with small things - you came home a little later, he forgot to turn off the radio, you spilled some water making dinner - and the next thing you know you're both screaming your lungs out at each other in the living room.

You can't even remember what you'd been fighting about. Probably something stupid. It always was, but you'd crossed a line this time. One you don't think you can recover from. _Maybe people keep away from you because they don't want to put up with someone so fucking cynical!_ God, the words rattled around in your skull. How could you have said that?

_You were right in his face, jamming your finger in his chest. He was practically baring his teeth as he spoke, and the words fell out of your mouth without you even thinking. "Maybe people keep away from you because they don't want to put up with someone so fucking cynical," you spat before you could stop the words. You catch yourself and look up to his face to see him frozen, looking at you with tears welling in his eyes and jaw clenched. "Is that how you feel?" Before you could even stutter out a half-assed apology, he'd spun on his heel and stormed out of the house._

That was two hours ago and you had no idea where he was. With his leg, you knew he couldn't have gone far, but you also knew that if he planned on coming back he would, and there was nothing you could do to change his stubborn mind.

Eventually, you stood up from the couch and went over to the phone. You picked it up and dialed the number by heart, and it rang twice before you heard a click and a gruff, "What?"

"I fucked up, Bill, I fucked up bad," you mumbled into the phone, thunking down into a seat at the dining table.

"Oh, you and Joe fightin' again?" he asked. He didn't even bother asking who it was, he didn't have to.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, fishing a cigarette out of your pocket. "He left a few hours ago and I don't know what I'm gonna do. I said some shit, Bill, and I don't think I can take it back this time." You took a long drag to calm down and he sighed.

"Look, it ain't like I ain't gettin' calls like this from Joe too, ya know. He'll cool off and come back, he always does," he said, but you shook your head. Then you remembered he couldn't see you.

"I ain't never called him a cynical bastard before," you pointed out and Bill swore under his breath.

"Ok, you might want to go out an find him," he said after some very colorful swearing. You sighed but agreed and hung up after promising to call him and Fran later. You pulled on your jacket before you could lose your nerve and stubbed out your cigarette, pausing just long enough to grab a jacket for Joe because you knew he hadn’t as you walked quickly out of the house.  

It was freezing out and you moved quickly. Maybe five minutes later, you burst into the local pub. It was the only place open this late and you knew Joe would be even colder than you, without his jacket. You pulled your hands out of your pockets to rub them together and try to get them warm again, looking around the room. Barely anyone was there and it took you just a few seconds to spot Joe’s familiar hunched figure at the bar. Quietly, you made your way over and sat down on the stool next to him. You didn’t say anything at first, you just fished a cigarette out of your pocket and accepted the light offered by the bartender. Joe didn’t look at you and you didn’t look at him, you both just sat quietly. He nursed his drink and you nursed you cigarette in silence. You didn’t know where to start. Whatever was running through his head was a mystery to you.

After a few minutes, you caved. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, is it.” It wasn’t a question, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t bother to answer. Slowly, he brought his drink to his mouth and drained the last of it. “Look, I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have said that and there’s nothing I can do to take it back, but-”

“You think I don’t know I’m a cynical fuck?” His question stopped you short. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. You just waited. “You think I don’t know that I’m an asshole? That I get too angry, that I’m uneducated, that I don’t deserve the life I’ve got? That I don’t deserve you?” _Oh._

“Come home, Joe. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Come on,” you tried, putting a hand on his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“I’ve just been waiting for you to get sick of it and toss me out like everybody else. Waitin’ for you to stop pitying me for my leg,” he spat and you frowned, suddenly recalling the reunion when Malarkey had pulled you aside and told you about the time he’d talked Joe down from the roof. You got up off the stool and stood right next to him, pulling on his shoulder until he swung around to face you. He was frowning deeply, but you ignored it as you swung your arms around his neck and fit in between his legs.

“I’m not gonna toss you out,” you said. He scoffed, but you shushed him and started over. “I’m not gonna toss you out. You are an asshole and you are a cynical fuck. But, you’re my cynical fuck, okay?” He frowned again at that, so you leaned forward and pressed your lips against the crease it created on his forehead. “I don’t pity you for your leg. I don’t think you’re an idiot for not going to school. And, I most definitely am not going to get sick of you.” You pressed a kiss against his face with each sentence before stopping just in front of his lips. “I love you, jackass, don’t you ever forget that. No matter how much we fight.” You punctuated your point by firmly pressing your mouth to his. For a moment he was still, but then he wrapped his arms around your waist firmly and pulled you tight, deepening the kiss.

You stayed like that until you couldn’t anymore, and when you came up for air you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Come home,” you said quietly.

“Okay,” he whispered back and you grinned against his neck. Pulling away, you presented him with the jacket you had brought for him and he finally smiled back at you. “I love you, too,” he said quietly before pulling it on and walking out with you, throwing down some cash for the bartender on your way out.


End file.
